Devil's In the Details
by Tribble Master
Summary: Dean has a brother, really he does. He's just at Stanford right now, but you can see the photo. Yeah sure, it's old and wrinkled and no one's really seen "Sam" but ... Dean has a brother, it's true. Just look at the picture. Oneshot, dark.


**Disclaimer: **I only own on old photograph and a few scattered hopes.

**Devil's in the Details **

Saying it's only a picture is like saying it's only a job. It's only a picture but it means so much more. Dean unfolds it every night and counts the details. Sometimes a book moves, or a pages turns. One time a glass of juice appeared on the table. In the middle of the picture Sammy sits. His hazel eyes are always looking upward, even with his shoulders hunched and his hands in his lap.

Dean holds the picture with shaking hands and swears he'll make it right.

John asks him why the hell they're getting letters from Stanford. They're from Sam, he explains. John doesn't believe him when he shows him the picture. There is no Sam, John reprimands. John even shows him the letters from Stanford are written in Dean's handwriting.

Dean denies it, and refuses to accept this 'evidence.' He knows there really is a Sam. Dean has a brother. He carried him out of their burning house with his own two hands. But as John reminds him again and again, he was the only one carried out of the burning nursery.

"Once you walk out that door, don't you dare come back." John yells after Dean gets drunk and yells about Sam again.

John's sick of it. Sick of hearing about Sam at Stanford. It's just another passive aggressive way of Dean fighting. It's easier to just let Dean leave on this hunt for a brother that doesn't exist.

Dean takes the car, and when he can't find a motel later, he spends the night in it. He unfolds the picture and counts the details. Tonight, Sam has an unfinished letter in front of him.

Dean wonders if he's writing for help.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Inside the flat world, he's fading. Sam can feel it. He never moves, and he breathes only dust. The world around him moved once. Once upon a time, he remembers they were hunting something in a warehouse. Maybe that's a different photo--he can never quite recall. He misses the noise the most. Now his world was slowly becoming hazier. A little more black and white. There's not a sound at all except of course for the crackle of an old photo un-folding. So he sits, simply in silence thinking about where it all went wrong.

He's always looking up but he can never see where.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dean begins moving across the country. Counting the details and making his way towards Stanford, the only real clue he has. That's where he'll find Sam. He has a brother. He keeps telling himself that and he keeps believing it. Even when he sees the photo frames for sale have the same picture, he pushes it to the back of his mind.

He unfolds the picture and looks down. "You know I'm coming, right Sam?"

Sam never smiles. Sam looks up at him with his hands folded in his lap with a table by his side.

Then as Dean's sitting in the Roadhouse he really looks at the picture. More than just a glance to count the details, he inspects each minute object closer than he ever has before. His eyes are straining when he hears a voice-- "Whatcha looking at sweetie?" Ellen asks.

"M'brother." Dean grunts as notices the book Sam's reading. A book on demons.

Ellen's brows furrow in concentration. "Who?"

Dean looks up. "Can demons change reality?"

Ellen shakes her head. "No of course not." She looks at the picture in his hands. "Why? Need help on case?"

"Can they trap people in pictures?" Dean continues as he tries to read the tiny print on the book title.

Ellen shrugs and sets down her pitcher of beer. "Dean, who's in that picture?"

"My brother Sam." He looks up at her; the sincerity in his eyes is disarming. "He's trapped."

Ellen remembers the conversation she had with John earlier, and she can't help but laugh. "You don't have a brother, Dean." She says gently. "Maybe you've had too much tonight."

"Maybe." Dean says, recognizing when someone is beyond listening to him. He pays for the beer, even when she says it's on the house, and leaves quickly.

Slumping in the Impala, he rummages around and finally finds a flashlight. He shines the bright light on the old black and white image and counts the details: The book is open. The glass of water is spilled. The table is leaning lower. Sam's sitting next to the table and his hands are clenched into fists.

Dean feels his heart drop in realization. Sam's talking to him. Dean smiles at the knowledge because more than anything that means--

They're making progress.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam's paper heart beats harder than it has in a long time. If he could he would smile. His eyes are still burning from the flash of the camera that's put him here. The book in front of him has changed tonight. He can read it, but he already knows the story. Sam knows exactly what's trapped him here but there's nothing he can do.

He can only wait and hope for the photo to stop developing before he's frozen in place.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dean runs into John later one state away.

"Realized you ain't got a brother?" John growls for hello.

Dean pulls out the photo and points angrily to the book in front of Sam. "Dad, look at that book!"

John takes the photo from him. "No, Dean." He holds the photo out of reach and shakes his head. "It's time to grow up."

With that, he slowly begins to tear it into small squares. Sam's eye falls to the ground. Sam's hands, the book, the table edge- all like little ashen snowflakes. Dean's pretty sure he can hear the photo screaming. Either that or he's the one screaming his lungs out. It's hard to tell in the mess of ripped photo finish.

Dean falls to his knees and touches the pieces, counting all the details until John forces him to stand up.

"Forget it." John commands holding him by the shirt collar.

Dean can't hear John. He's too angry to feel anything else. All the noise seems to fade away and the world slows down.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

There's an old photo in the corner of a warehouse on 66th street. In it are two brothers, both frozen in shock and surprised by the camera's flash. The shorter one is trying to push his taller sibling out of the way. They're each moving, but it's hard to tell just by looking at one. One of them seems to yelling. Maybe in Latin, maybe a spell. There's only the noise of crinkled paper.

A gust of wind blows the photo around.

Every minute passes by and it grows more solid. It's almost finished developing.

**The End **


End file.
